


you save everyone (but who saves you?)

by meetmeinthecosmos



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Depressed Natasha Romanov, Depressing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Natasha Romanov, Hurt Steve Rogers, I Made Myself Cry, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I wrote this ages ago, Mild language I guess?, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Canon Compliant, Please Don't Hate Me, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Protective Steve Rogers, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve loves Natasha, Suicidal Natasha Romanov, Suicidal Thoughts, What Have I Done, happy ending? never heard of it, im so sorry in advance, straight up sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25450558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeinthecosmos/pseuds/meetmeinthecosmos
Summary: The depression came and went in waves. Angry waves, full of overwhelming anguish and pain. One day she felt fine, the next watching her blood drip in a straight line. Steve asked her about it, the one time she forgot to wear her hoodie.Just Liho, Steve. Cat's got claws.She hated him for believing her.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	you save everyone (but who saves you?)

**Author's Note:**

> !**MAJOR trigger warning! Depression, Suicide**!  
> If you are uncomfortable with this subject matter, please do not read this.  
> I kinda hate myself for writing this.

The rain was unrelenting.

It pounded against the tempered glass, blurring her view, not that it mattered much anyway.

Natasha stared out into the distance, the rain drowning out the sound of her breathing.

The world was crying with her.

Finally.

She hadn't been doing much else as of late, besides finding the strength to wake up in the mornings. It was becoming more of a struggle each passing day. And she couldn't find a way to stop it.

Steve had come by on Thursday. She plastered a fake smile on her face, tried to be strong for him. Fortunately for her, he suspected nothing. He would have made her go with him to that support group, and Natasha Romanoff is not one to share her feelings in front of some pretty sad people.

Who is she kidding, though, she is one.

 _Pot calling the kettle black right there_ , she thought, turning away from the window. The depression came and went in waves. Angry waves, full of overwhelming anguish and pain. One day she felt fine, the next holding a razor to her arm, watching the blood drip in a straight line. Steve asked her about it, the one time she forgot to wear her hoodie.

_Just Liho, Steve. Cat's got claws._

She hated him for believing her.

Not that she wanted him to know, but she needed his help. She couldn't stop.

_Oh, look! They're finally healing!_

That never lasted long, did it? She cursed herself for each line of crimson she drew.

When would this downpour end?

_It's been 3 years, Natasha, get over it. God. You're a walking disaster. Pull yourself together and get some fucking help._

But she was embarrassed. Angry at herself. Always. She lifted her sleeve, admired her artwork. Just surface wounds, never deep enough to kill. Enough to feel a release. The pain never bothered her; she'd been through much worse countless times. But the tension was deafening, ringing through her head, her desire to end it all slowly overpowering her will to live.

The alarm at the front gate went off. Natasha inhaled deeply, pulling her sleeve down slowly, one line at a time.

Steve walked in.

"Nat."

"Hey. Came all this way in the rain just for me? Wow. I'm pretty special."

"Don't sound so happy to see me. How are you?"

"Good as I can be, I guess. You?"

"Let's just leave it at fine. But you're not. I know what you've been hiding, Natasha."

She blinked once, taking a sip of her tea.

"You're mistaken, Steve."

"Bullshit. I want to know everything. And you're going to tell me."

"Why should I bother? And why do you even care so much?"

He rose, anger radiating off him.

"Because I _love you_ , Natasha! And I don't want you cutting your goddamn life away!"

The sound of his fists slamming into the tabletop echoed through the dim room.

_Oh. I-_

"Steve..."

"I can't let you do this."

"I know. But I have to figure this out on my own-"

The soldier strode over, roughly taking her hands in his.

"No. You're not going to. I'm here. Always. Yet you chose to do this by yourself."

"Sorry."

"You're damn right. I lost _everything_ , Tasha. I can't lose you too."

He sighed heavily, letting go of her hands and tucking a strand of her scarlet hair behind her ear.

"I'm gonna go. Hang on for me, Nat. Okay?"

_I don't have control over that, Steve._

"Okay." _Why the hell is your voice shaking?_ "I love you, soldier."

"I love you, too."

She watched him drive away.

As soon as he was out of sight, she crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap.

She wanted to tell him to stay. To hold her and tell her she mattered and wipe her tears away with his thumb while he kissed her. But she didn't want him to see her like this. Her brave facade replaced by a tangled web of clever lies and fake smiles. She wasn't human. She was too broken to be considered one. And this depression bullshit didn't help her cause.

The lukewarm tea sat on the table. Its yellowish hue made her feel sick to her stomach. She picked up the mug, trying desperately to ignore the churning feeling in her gut. No sooner than she had emptied the cup into the sink, it shattered into pieces. Hardwood was not friendly to fine china.

Retching into the sink did not paint a very Natasha Romanoff-esque picture. She couldn't remember a time when she had ever thrown up. _Ever._ Minutes passed. Shaking, she pulled herself back up to a sort-of standing position, gripping the steel of the sink so hard her knuckles turned white. Her reflection in the blurry window stared back at her.

_Holy shit._

Her eyes were dark, grey circles surrounding them. She had never seen her skin so pale, and she looked dead. Corpse-like. How had she let herself get this far? Steve hadn't said anything. Of course. Because all he saw was her.

But all she saw was a monster.

A failure.

A girl who can't get herself together.

_God, Natasha. Look at you. You're a scar-covered, depressed freak who doesn't know enough to get some fucking help. You brought this on yourself. You deserve every scar and every tear that comes your way._

_"I can't take this anymore."_

She ran, light-headed, to the bathroom. Throwing open the drawer, she reached to the back and found it. Her relief. It glinted under the light as she pressed it into her wrist, a spot untouched by her repulsively talented fingers. And she could breathe again. Watching the blood drip and splatter into the sink was satisfying.

_What the hell are you doing? Are you enjoying this?_

Her wrist throbbed, pulsing blood with every beat of her heart. Spots danced in her vision, and she pulled the razor away. The blood ran crimson, fading in tendrils down the drain, and it was only then she realized just how much she'd lost.

Not only in blood, but her sanity as well.

Natasha Romanoff had lost her mind.

And she was spiralling, less than gracefully, all the way down.

It was only a matter of time before she hit rock bottom. Or she flatlined.

Whichever came first.

Sunlight poured in through her window.

And it was a thousand times brighter outside. She agreed to meet Steve for a walk down by the pier. So there she was, strolling alongside him, hands intertwined like a pair of newlyweds. And the thought didn't bother her much. Surprisingly.

"I could get used to this."

His voice broke through her thoughts, yearning and drawn out.

"What, this?" She leaned over the fence, eyes absorbing the crystal waters of the ocean, then darting to meet his.

"Yeah. I mean, you and me. Together."

"Me too."

"Tasha, what's wrong?"

"I did it again, Steve."

He gently pulled her closer to him.

"You've gotta stop. You're going off the deep end."

"I don't know why I let myself get this far. I look like absolute shit, and I feel like it, too. Look, Steve," she raised her sleeve, unwound the pink-streaked dressings, and displayed her handiwork to him. He flinched. "This is what I've come to. I watched my blood run down the drain, _and I was fucking happy._ That makes me sound like some psychopath who can't keep their head above water. I let myself do this. It's on me. But I can't fix it."

She wrapped her wound again, tightly as tears streamed down her face with a vengeance, keeping the memory bound to her wrist. Steve pulled her against his chest, letting her cry.

 _She needs to,_ he thought. _And she needs someone to do it with._

"I'm moving in with you. And we're getting married while we're at it."

She just cried.

"I won't let you destroy yourself, Natasha. You have my word on that."

And for the first time, Natasha Romanoff found stable ground. She made a silent vow to keep it that way.

It stayed that way for a year.

He remained true to his word, and she was so grateful.

Nothing but scars. You could never tell that Natasha Romanoff was ever so broken.

They wandered down to the pier every Friday night, a ritual to commemorate the day her life changed for the better.

All she ever needed was a little sunlight, burning her cheeks, letting her freckles shine through. That diamond perched on her finger gave her a reason to live. But it also brought on the pressure to make sure she did.

Steve had gone uptown, leaving her alone in the compound. They always went out together. In retrospect, that was his first mistake.

And all of a sudden, as she stared out the window finishing a peanut butter sandwich, those goddamn memories came flooding back.

_God, Natasha. Your husband's gone for an hour, and you're losing it. He's coming home. You know that._

But she couldn't shake that gnawing, sinking feeling in her gut.

Natasha Romanoff was falling apart.

Again.

A less-than-graceful spiral, the ground rising to meet her faster than she could keep her head level. So she did the only thing she knew how to do. Something that would fix her. Get rid of the memories, banish them to a blooming scarlet slit.

The razor was a dead weight in her hand. Her legs were numb beneath her, pressed into the couch. Everything was grey. Except for her wrists. They dripped, the dull ache washing away her sub-conscious agony. But it was a good feeling. Something she tried desperately to not give in to. She thought that everything was going to be okay, and it was for a beautiful year. But nothing lasts forever.

Natasha always knew it would pay her another visit.

_It comes in waves...Raging, deafening waves. And now Natasha was drowning. Slipping under._

_No. Not yet...I don't want to..._

Her vision began to blur, and the lethargy was starting to set in. She reached for her phone, smearing blood on the screen as she struggled to dial Steve's number.

It was only a matter of time.

His phone rang.

"Hey, Tasha. I'm just leaving, so I'll be home-"

_"Steve..."_

His heart dropped. Bile rose in his throat, but he fought past it, choking the words out.

"I'm coming, Nat. Hold on, please. _Please_...Don't. Fight it, Tasha, fight. Hold on for me, I'll be there-"

The line went dead, and his strong facade shattered into a million little pieces.

Steve threw himself into the door, frantically shouting for his wife as he nearly tripped over Liho.

_You should never have left her. This is your fault._

He listened for a sound, _any sound_ , but heard nothing. The compound was silent. Dead silent.

"Tasha..." The words caught in his throat when he saw her. _Oh, God._

She was lying on the couch, her pale wrists slit wide open and dripping crimson on the floor. Her bloody phone lay just below her reaching fingers, its tell-tale screen splintered. The cracks spiderwebbed, his number frozen on the glitching screen. He collapsed at her side, not bothering to check for a pulse because he knew he wouldn't find one. Instead, he whispered reassurances to her, sweet nothings; memories.

_"I'm so sorry, love."_

There was no note, no reason.

Natasha Romanoff was dead.

And Steve followed soon after.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! :'))  
> I finally got around to posting; shoutout to Kittyyy for giving me the courage to post this (again, your fic was amazing<3)


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